


Something (that he's hiding)

by spica_starson



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Arthur suspects, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Friendship, Gen, Introspection, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-22 11:43:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22148899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spica_starson/pseuds/spica_starson
Summary: “There’s something about you, Merlin…I can’t quite put my finger on it.”In which Arthur had always suspected from the moment they met, but never found out what it was until it was too late.Or, a peek into Merlin from Arthur's eyes.
Relationships: Merlin & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 41





	Something (that he's hiding)

**Author's Note:**

> This was a roller-coaster ride, watching back episodes to make sure I'm referencing them right and doing them justice. Definitely cried once or twice. I think I just really enjoy breaking down scenes and their relationship's developments--there's just something so beautiful in how they were written, I didn't want to simply rewrite the scenes because they were already so well done.
> 
> So I hope you enjoy my take on how Arthur had noticed something was off since the beginning but could never figure out what.
> 
> **Edited on 24/01/20: Fixed some grammatical errors and replaced/added some sentences.**

_“There’s something about you, Merlin…I can’t quite put my finger on it.”_

There was something about him, Arthur knew.

From the moment the nameless boy called him out for the rather fun (but admittedly mean) game he was playing with the much younger serving lad, carelessly calling him a friend despite not knowing who he was.

 _A brave idiot,_ he had mused—and later, as he walked away from the crowd and mess they’ve made, he simply brushed it aside.

When fate somehow brought them back together, chaining their destiny to each other with his father’s declaration that night of his attack, Arthur couldn’t find it in him to privately request (or politely demand) the King to change his decision as he thought he would have. He remembered the fidgeting young boy beside him, obviously uncomfortable from all the attention his father had brought onto him.

(The boy he had tormented during the two encounters they have had, the boy he threw to the dungeon for simply standing up for another chap- the boy who also happened to save his life. Fate never failed to elude him.)

“Why?”

The new position the young apprentice to Gaius was thrust with was effective immediately it seems, because he was there the next morning, standing awkwardly on one side of his bed, a tray of food on his hands. It was clear to all how unaccustomed the boy was to the royal service, but he was trying at least. And Arthur had more grace than to outright dismiss the person who saved his life.

Merlin blinked. “Why what?” and continued to fold his nightshirt.

“Why’d you save me?”

 _When I’ve treated you no more than a pest_ , he didn’t say. His voice was carefully bland, but curiosity peeked from behind his eyes. Maybe he wanted some kind of reward for his deeds, but somehow…he just didn’t strike Arthur as the ambitious, grab-your-chance type—not with that honest and stupid grin and too-smart tongue.

A strange look crossed the boy’s face before it disappeared, his shoulders quirking upwards in a shrug.

“Er, because why not,” he dismissed, a teasing glint in his eyes as he said: “Besides, _someone_ had to save your sorry hide.”

Arthur snatched a pillow to throw at his smirking servant and never asked again.

  
000

A few days passed and Arthur thought that he would have asked to withdraw from his new job—many of his predecessors certainly had. Being his manservant was no walk in the park after all. The harsh ‘training’ he had to accompany him to, polishing his armour, tending to him for most duration of the day were no easy tasks.

(And if anyone were to claim he was intentionally trying to push his breaking point by making him muck up the stables as well, Arthur would naturally feign ignorance.)

But as the days turned to weeks, and weeks turned to months, the lad never asked, never even considered it—and Arthur eventually stopped expecting him to, already accustomed to seeing a mop of black hair and his rugged neckerchief every morning.

In fact, his skills were improving rapidly, no doubt getting help from the other experienced servants as he had accidentally found out one day when he went searching for him. Merlin was in the Royal Kitchen, the table in front of him littered with various ranges of culinary with a single plate filled with dishes worthy of a King in his hands. A serving girl that he remembered to be of Morgana’s was talking to him, deft fingers pointing to the confusing arrangement of food that only servants could understand as she spoke.

“Merlin,” he made himself known, stepping into their line of sight.

The girl stilled, surprised but well-trained to the decorum of the Royal Household. Merlin, unsurprisingly, had the grace of a flailing buffoon; the boy jumped, grips on the plate loosening as it clattered back onto the table. Thankfully nothing was spilled (truly a miracle), because Arthur had a suspicion that he knew whose plate it was meant for.

Whirling to face him, his eyes blown wide in surprise: “Arthur! Wha- What are you doing here?”

His question was met with a flat stare. “I came looking for _you_.”

And then he realized how unusual it was for a prince to search for his servant instead of the other way around, but he internally shook his head and ignored the well-concealed stares he received from the other passing servants.

“You were meant to be assisting me with my preparations for tonight’s feast,” he raised an eyebrow, voice falling flat, “in case it escaped your mind. _Again_.”

Gaping like an idiotic fish, the fool finally opened his mouth. “Well- I- it’s- she- uhm-” his arms scrambled, explanation flying out of the window until his eyes fell on the abandoned plate. Snatching it back from the table, he presented it to Arthur like some kind of prize: “Your lunch!”

The innocent but nervous grin he gave was honestly funny enough to tickle his funny bone, but Arthur resisted and only rolled his eyes. “I can _see_ that, _Mer_ lin.”

Shaking his head for real now, he turned to leave the ridiculous sight before saying, raising his voice towards the end: “Head to my room as soon as you’re done with whatever you’re doing. My clothes won’t magically appear by themselves, you idiot.”

And then he was gone.

He could still feel the incredulous and (some) amused gaze of his subjects on his back and shrugged them off. _That’s what you get for letting an incompetent serving boy be your manservant._

Strangely, Arthur still didn’t mind.

There was definitely something about him. And that figuring out that something is enough for Arthur for now.

* * *

“I’m happy to be your servant, till the day I die.”

Arthur stared at the boy on his door, a stranger at this very moment with his uncomfortably intense look and his solemn voice. A promise. A truth—there was nothing else it could be.

His words escaped with a breath, wistful: “Sometimes I think I know you, Merlin. Other times…”

Other times, something unexpected like this threw him off and he was back to square one in the mystery that is his servant. This boy who had so much belief in him, in his destiny—it had to be his loyalty. His ridiculously unyielding loyalty to him. And he always wondered, never stopped wondering even as years went by-

_What have I ever done to deserve a loyalty such as this?_

Even as the boy answered his unspoken question with a strangely knowing smile, that _something_ leaking in the tone of his voice: “You _will_ be the Once and Future King who will unite Albion, Arthur.”

It was like a constant echo in his head, the faith Merlin had in his future a shining beacon guiding his way whether he meant to or not. A beacon that never swayed even as so many hurdles were thrown in his path, numerous betrayals and revelations and yet Merlin was always there, with his goofy smile and snarky retorts, his wise words and honest council. Never wavering even as he made unthinkable mistakes and Arthur _wondered_ -

“You’re a riddle, Merlin,” he declared one day, Merlin quiet and the forest alive. Silence was never a good sign when it came to him, and yet Arthur was still trying and constantly failing. And perhaps- perhaps that was just how their dynamic was meant to go—with him chasing after scraps of hints to his servant and the boy somehow always there when he needed him the most.

He didn’t know what to feel about that and maybe, just maybe…that was why he never thought too much about it.

About the young lad who willingly went to various battles with him despite the odds, death looming close; never shying away, never cowering. Never making excuses. Always there even when he didn’t want him to.

 _A brave fool indeed_ , he mused.

It was his unquestionable loyalty; Arthur was sure of it. A simple truth, one he had come to accept just as the sky is blue and Camelot is his home; so easy to accept but harder to wrap his mind around and yet- Something was still lacking, a huge piece of the puzzle that he couldn’t find, even after years gone by with him by his side...he never once gave it away. Stupid, clumsy accidents; tripping on roots and stairs and nothing.

Sometimes, Arthur can't help but wonder if he was going mad himself—that it was never there to begin with and he most definitely figured him out. But then things like these happened-

“I’d have thought that if things had been different…” mused Merlin that day with a shrug, a small smile threatening to spill, “we’d have been good friends.”

And there it was, the truth of the matter. _Sometimes you puzzle me_ , he had stated, and that was a fact. The way Merlin had responded struck a chord in him, as if he had resigned their fate to never truly understanding one another and Arthur-

“…Yeah.”

There wasn’t much he could do except trust that this relationship they had now was good enough for both of them.

* * *

“I’m afraid I won’t be coming with you. Not this time.”

Arthur blinked. What? Had he heard him wrong-

“I’m sorry,” spoke this sudden outsider, lies flowing as easy as the river as he locked his eyes with his, a small quiver in his voice, “I have an urgent matter to run for Gaius, vital supplies...”

Excuses. That’s are all he heard from his friend. Emotions warred within him, disbelief and confusion trumping them all. But hurt, raw and biting—something he had come to be associated well with after Morgana and Agravaine was there, clawing desperately at his chest, raked and thrashed in denial despite the many wounds marking his heart. He pushed it down and looked away.

“No, no,” dismissing whatever Merlin wanted to say (because it won’t matter, not anymore), his own words tasting foul in his mouth just as Merlin’s sounded. “It’s fine.”

Looking back up, searching the man who unquestioningly stood by his side, always, without fail. His council irreplaceable, his surprisingly wise words holding him accountable. Even now to his infuriation, he had still not figured him out—and Arthur wondered for the first time since they met-

“Arthur…”

“It’s fine, I understand,” he didn’t know what to feel. The sound of something sacred breaking between them, cracking like webs on window panes, the mutual agreement they never touched upon but was a constant in their bond finally shaken after years and years-

He let himself wonder for the very first time _…Had he been wrong about him after all?_

It wasn’t long before Arthur watched from the corner of his eyes as Merlin quietly left his room, closing the door with a soft _click_.

Silence greeted him and his throat was engulfed with a tang of bitterness:

 _If this was the conclusion of the mystery…_ he squeezed his eyes shut, willing the weight in his chest to _leave_ -

He wished he had never chosen to pursue it in the first place.

Shaking his head, he looked back at the scroll of plans in his hands.

He had a whole battalion to look after, Merlin can wait.

(If he survived, that is.)

000

Guinevere was the first to notice, of course. She was not only his wife, but good friends with his servant as well—it was only a matter of time before she realized something was off, he reasoned. And if he were honest with himself, Arthur was both dreading and looking forward to it.

“Where’s Merlin?” she asked after a beat, no doubt questioning the lack of his presence at his side. They were almost ready to depart, all their provisions and supplies loaded up onto their freshly groomed rounceys, the horses standing proud beside their knights as they prepared for the inevitable battle. Arthur continued to tighten his buckles on his destier, carefully not meeting his Queen's eyes.

One second. Two. Guinevere opened her mouth again-

“He’s not coming.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “What…?” stammered his wife, incredulity coloring her words as her face reflected the same. Before she could barrage him with her own disbelief, Arthur bit out, voice clipped—trying to sound flippant and failing miserably:

“Said he had some errands to run for Gaius. I heard he left an hour ago.”

Patiently, he waited for his wife to react to that information, to say _something_. But then he suddenly found his arms snatched away from his work, Gwen’s silent plea for him to stop.

“ _Arthur_ ,” she emphasized every word she said, wide, beautiful earthen eyes boring into his--he couldn't look away even as fear coiled uncomfortably in his heart, “you know as well as I do that Merlin would _never_ leave you for something so trivial.

“Not before, and certainly not _now_.” Her tone was firm, but he could see in her eyes that she seemed to be conflicted as well (and privately, he was glad he wasn’t the only one).

 _He lied_ , was left unsaid, the echo of the bitter truth ringing as loud as the castle bells between them. It was somehow more upsetting than the fact that he wasn’t here.

They stared at each other for a long time, Arthur seeking out the answer to all his troubles in his wife, the love of his life, the other constant presence he could count on. Surely, she’d know—she had been friends with Merlin even longer than he had, so if anyone were to even figure him out-

But his confusion only reflected back in her eyes, and Arthur shook his head, a pained smile briefly flashing across his face before retreating back.

“It doesn’t matter now,” he muttered, directing his attention back to his horse. Louder, surer: “He made his decision. And I made mine.”

Gwen gazed upon her husband with an unreadable look before nodding. “You’re right,” she said, her faith in him pouring out for all to see as she smiled blindingly, “and you made a good one, my love.”

Thus, he was reminded again of how much he loved her and how lucky he was, his chest constricting and easing the pain of another. They did not speak of it again, focusing on the tasks at hand as his men were finally ready to march into battle.

But if he allowed himself a moment of weakness by letting Gwen rest a gentle hand on his arm for a few moments longer, squeezing in regretful apology, no one needed to know.

(And if seeing Gaius there, openly lying to his face about the whereabouts of Merlin sent a pang of hurt through him, Arthur kept it hidden.)

* * *

Time was running out, he could feel it in his soul.

And as they lay on the forest floor together, a tangle of mess as Merlin tried to frantically pull him in the general direction of the lake despite its futility, desperation clinging onto him-

It all clicked. Everything made sense in a way that he never thought it would, his body and soul now too weary to allow anything else but the acceptance in his heart.

The anger and betrayal he felt after Merlin’s confession, tears running down his face- _“I have magic, and I use it for you, Arthur. Only for you.”_ Those emotions ebbed away slowly, Merlin proving to _him_ over time that he was still the person he knew even with his magic, despite everything that was happening, even in the uneasy silence of their journey and his time ticking slowly to its end by the second. The mystery of perfectly-timed falling branches, slippery ground beneath their enemies' feet and the whisper in the wind opposite of their tracks falling into place as they trekked to his only salvation.

“I was born to serve you, and I’m proud of that,” an easy smile, head held high as his voice rang true, “I wouldn’t change a thing.” And Arthur had truly regarded this puzzle of a man, this living proof of every contradiction in the world...and finally, _finally_ stopped wondering. For good.

He had assumed Magic was the only missing piece left, the _something_ he had sought for so long; but he was proven wrong yet again.

Merlin was Merlin, with or without his magic—with his goofy smiles and his secrets, with his wisdom and tendency to be an idiot. With his unwavering loyalty and lies, his bravery and his tears. With his kind heart and willingness to do what’s right no matter the cost.

And most importantly…

With his friendship and their destiny on his shoulders.

For the first time since he wondered that day at the market, both of them much younger and very much strangers…Arthur realized with a clarity that he would never _truly_ understand the creature before him, not really.  
  
And for once…he was alright with that.

Because that was just how Merlin is—and he wouldn't change him for the world. Magic and all.

A tint of regret washed over him as he felt his body weakening, the only one he would bring to his grave. Arthur wished with all the strength he had left that he had more time to finally, _finally_ get to know Merlin without that treacherous _something_ in the way—an invisible veil shrouding the bond between them. That he could know and repay all the unnamed sacrifices his friend had to irrevocably endure in his name, all for him. All because he had believed in _him_.

But time was not on his side.

It was slipping away by the minute as he told his servant, his most trusted confidant, his _closest friend_ —the best any man could ever hope for—to stop wasting it. It was already too late for him anyway. _Just…just hold me,_ he shushed the panicking man behind him, holding him close- _please._ Merlin was trembling, sobs threatening to erupt from the pained whispers he hissed out—and yet Arthur was calm, the constant presence of the man a comfort, an anchor.

As it always has been.

 _Thank you,_ he whispered, holding wide, frantic blue eyes as stark as the sky itself in place, the little strength he had left used to ruffle that unruly raven hair one last time. _For everything you’ve done for me. For Camelot. For the Kingdom you’ve helped me built._

For the sacrifices he had made.

For the loyalty he did not deserve.

For the friendship they had shared and nurtured.

Maybe in his next life…he could finally do him right. His apology earlier was not enough after all.

And as his lungs drew its last breath, his friend’s grief-stricken face the last thing he saw, Arthur just hoped Merlin would be there to witness the day magic finally returned to Albion.

  
  


Magic—the earth, the sky, the sea—mourned its terrible loss that day, its other half taken away from it for good in this life. And Arthur was finally at peace.

(Until he rises again.)

**Author's Note:**

> Rouncey = Ordinary, all-purpose horse commonly used for riding but can be trained for war. Usually serves as pack horses too.
> 
> Destier = The most well-known horse carrying knights in battles, tournaments, and jousts. I'd say the horse Arthur was preparing with is Llamrei.
> 
> Feedback and comments are always appreciated!


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